Chapter 7
Then
There was a long silence. The only sound was both of them, their breathing heavy with tears.
Steve felt like he’d been punched in the chest. No, not punched. Hit by a truck. A truck full of concrete.
He’d known that Bucky had been tortured. He’d also known that there was “evidence of sexual assault.” But he couldn’t have imagined the extent of the brutality his friend had endured. And worse…he’d endured it FOR STEVE.
“Buck,” said Steve finally, when he felt he could speak. “I am so glad that you’re alive. And I love you so much.”
Bucky nodded. His head was bowed and he was not making eye contact. “I understand if you don’t mean that. If you don’t…want to be around me anymore. I would understand.”
“What?” Steve’s confusion broke him out of the spell of numb horror that had been cast by Bucky’s story. “What are you talking about?”
Bucky still didn’t look up. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m weak. Maybe if I’d fought them…maybe they’d have just killed me, instead of making me work for them. If I hadn’t broken.”
“Buck,” said Steve. “You aren’t weak. You are so strong. What they did to you…it’s more than anyone could bear. They tortured you. They RAPED you.” Just the word made Steve feel sick.
“I let it happen. I complied. It wasn’t rape, not every time. What I did…it’s awful. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Steve reached out to grab Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky flinched away from his grasp. Steve sighed. He was so angry hearing Bucky talk like this about himself. But, he knew, trauma could distort the way you think. Whatever Bucky was feeling had been ingrained in him for years.
“Look, Bucky…it wasn’t your choice. You were in prison. You were on drugs. And even if all of that weren’t true, you did not make this happen. Even if you said nothing. It still wouldn’t be your fault.”
Bucky sat still, but his shoulders shook with tears.
“It’s not your fault. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with them. I would love nothing more than to track down every single asshole who ever laid a finger on you and rip their heads off.” And he meant it. Any sense of justice he had, his moral compass, his ideals — they were gone. He didn’t care about due process, or the law, or anything like that.
Bucky looked up at Steve. “I think I’m being punished,” he said. “Why else would I have made it through all that and come out alive? All the missions. All the people I’ve murdered. I think…fate, or the universe, or whatever, wants me to remember it all. It wants me to suffer. And if that’s the case…I don’t want to bring you down with me.” He looked away again.
“Look at me, Bucky,” said Steve. “This isn’t the universe, or fate, or any of that crap. The only one punishing you is you.”
“I deserve it,” said Bucky again. “You know how many people I’ve killed? How many people I’ve stood over and watched the life go out of them? I’m a fucking monster. I deserve everything that ever happened to me.”
Steve sighed. He wasn’t getting through to Bucky. He didn’t know how.
“What about me, then?” he said. “I’ve done some bad things. Very bad things. I didn’t mean to do them, but I did them. All the people I killed in Sokovia. Innocent people, and who knows how many more? I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that I deserve some kind of perverse cosmic suffering.”
Bucky looked at him and for the first time there was something like a spark of life in his eyes. “Of course not, Steve. You’re a good person. I know you’d never hurt anyone unless there wasn’t another choice.”
Steve nodded. “You’re right. And I know you. You are one of the best people I’ve ever known. And the things that were done to you are horrifying. But they were not your fault. And if you call yourself a monster, well, you’re calling me one too.”
Bucky’s eyebrows curved up at the inner corners and his face seemed to crumple. It was as if all of the weight of what he’d been holding inside was washing over him.
“Bucky - is it ok if I touch you?” Steve asked, cautiously.
Bucky swallowed, then nodded. Gently and slowly, moving like he would to pet a skittish cat, Steve placed his arm on Bucky’s shoulder, then around to Bucky’s back, holding him in an awkward side embrace.
“You and me, Bucky. I’m with you. Till the end of the line.”
Bucky’s body relaxed, and he leaned into Steve. He could smell Bucky’s shampoo, and the clean musk that he associated with his friend. It transported him back to a time when they were just two boys from Brooklyn. To the way they’d laughed and wrestled and clung to each other. To the innocence of being young and carefree. That innocence was gone now. Steve’s had faded with time, Bucky’s had been wrenched away from him. And Steve mourned it for them both.